Rogue Knight (Medieval Warriors Book 2) (7 page)

He sat back, running his hand through his long hair,
bleached by the sun. He wore a fresh tunic of dark green, belted with fine
leather to which was affixed his seax, a longer one than her own. In his hand
was a goblet of mead.

“We were not ready,” he said with a sigh. “The retreat that
followed the first encounter was disorderly, an embarrassment. Many were
killed.” He took a drink of the honey wine.

She reached out a hand and touched his arm. “I am saddened
for their families.” She remembered the bodies she had seen in the clearing and
shuddered. Mayhap some who were killed in the fighting had been those she knew.
“Have we lost so soon?”

“Nay, Daughter, ’tis not over.” He took another drink.

“What will you do?”

“Today Cospatric and I leave on my ship, anchored in the
Humber, for King Swein’s court. We will urge him to send the ships we asked
for. Edgar has agreed to join us. From there, we will go to Scotland to see
King Malcolm and gather new recruits to our cause.”

“So there will be more trouble in York.” She spoke with
mixed feelings, knowing more battles would mean more dead, yet wanting
desperately to see her people shake off the Normans, for they had all been made
serfs with the coming of the Conqueror.

“If we are to gain our freedom, Daughter, how can it be
otherwise?”

Seeing his goblet was empty, she got up and poured him some
more. “I suppose you are right,” Emma admitted, worried for him and the people
she cared for. “How long will you be gone?” She sat again on the stool.

He fingered his beard. “I cannot say. Mayhap for the summer.
Look for me when the grain grows ripe.”

Her spirits fell. “So long?”

“It will require time to sail to Denmark and then to
Scotland. And more time to bring order to our purpose. We cannot risk another
defeat. We must draw our allies to us.”

“You mean the Danes?” Though he had been an English high
sheriff and a wealthy thegn, Emma knew they traced their lineage to the Danish
kings so it was not surprising her father would seek his allies among them.

“Yea, the Danes. We must have King Swein’s ships and men.
And there will be others who will join us. Even now Edgar prepares messages he
will send all over England, urging rebellion.” At her concerned look, he
hastily added, “The Danes will come, Emma. You will see. Swein believes he was
promised the throne of England. York was once the capital of the Danish lands.
He will not give that up so easily.”

Her gaze drifted to the flames in the hearth. “Kings and
their promises! Too easily given, too easily withdrawn. It seems Edward the
Confessor promised many the throne of England, including the Norman Bastard who
vexes York. At least he claims it was promised to him.”

“Aye, well there are many opinions on that. Besides, York is
special to the Danes. The other Yorkshire thegns and I are fortifying sites on
the Humber to be ready to receive them.”

His face exuded confidence now, no longer was he the discouraged
man he had been for some time.

“Father, how much more can the people endure?” She was
thinking of Feigr and Inga when she asked, but also of Ottar’s young body on
the snow-covered ground and the other dead she had seen. “So many have been
wounded, so many gone from this life.”

“They will have to endure more if we are to have our
freedom. The Normans have ravaged York, Emma. Even the Minster has been made
the object of scorn for they violated sanctuary to take some of our men. A
church, by God! You told me yourself what Inga and her father have suffered. I
have heard worse tales of the Normans’ brutality. We cannot allow such outrage
to continue.”

She dropped her gaze in resignation. He was right, she knew
it.

“Yesterday,” her father continued, “after the Normans
defiled the Minster, the archbishop still urged us to submit. It was a pathetic
and wasted entreaty. None of the men who were there would agree. Ask Artur. He
was among them.”

“I believe you, given what I have seen… Ottar, Inga and
Feigr.” How could they submit to those who would hurt innocents?

“They will be avenged, Daughter. Do not lose hope.”

Emma rose. “If you must leave today, at least I can see you
have clean clothes and a hearty meal to take with you.”

Two days later, in the cold, chill air of a morning without
sun, Geoff watched from the top of the motte as the building of the second
castle began, this one on Baille Hill on the opposite bank of the River Ouse.
They were close enough he could hear men shouting orders to the workers as they
formed a huge pile of dirt into the mound from which the square tower would
rise. Behind him in the bailey of the older castle, the loud clash of metal and
shields sounded from the practice yard.

Seeing Northumbrians forced to join in the building of the
new castle, he remembered Emma’s words. And the regret in her beautiful eyes as
she spoke of her people being forced to build yet another symbol of William’s
reign.

In her home lived a man who was more than a servant. A tall
man, most likely for there had been a shield. Could such a man defend her
against knights like Sir Eude? He banished a sudden image of a man sharing her
bed. Nay, whoever the man in her home was, Mathieu must have the right of
it—’twas a brother she had failed to mention. If not a brother, mayhap an uncle
or a cousin.

Emma was three years widowed. ’Twas possible her husband had
died before the Battle of Hastings. If that were true, at least she would not
hold Geoff responsible. Was it not time for her to marry again? He thought of
Eawyn, so different from Emma of York, and yet both widows. And both had
suffered at the hands of those seeking to conquer England. If he were to pursue
the beautiful York widow, would she rebuff him, as Eawyn had? He would not vie
with a ghost for her attention.

In the distance, hundreds of men swarmed over the mound that
would become the new motte like ants on honey, moving dirt to the desired
shape. Emma would be pleased to know it was not only Northumbrians who had been
forced into the work. Some of the men were from William’s army. To one side of
the men working, piles of new wood were neatly stacked. Such a horde of workers
would soon make use of the timber. The king was obviously in a hurry.

At the sound of boots crushing the thin layer of snow, he
turned to see Malet coming toward him. Geoff raised his head in greeting and
gestured to the work underway. “’Tis a furious pace the men set to build
William’s new castle,” he remarked to the sheriff.

Malet nodded and took his place beside Geoff to watch the
construction. “William expects the castle to be finished before he leaves for
Winchester where he would celebrate Easter.”

Geoff shook his head. “That leaves little time.”

“Less than a fortnight before he must depart for the South.”

As he looked out over the city, Geoff pondered what the
people of York might be thinking. “William demands the people of York accept
his rule,” he mused. “Do you believe they will?”

Malet crossed his arms over his chest and looked beyond the
rising castle. “I know not, but having seen the stubborn resistance in their
eyes, I doubt it. Many of the rebels have fled into the woods where they hide
among the trees. We believe some went north to Durham. Their leaders remain at
large.”

“The rebels and their leaders will no doubt return.” The
realization made Geoff lose hope for peace in York.

“Mayhap even this year,” Malet added in a somber tone.

“I understand William has sent Gilbert and a group of
Flemings to Durham to root out the rebels there.”

Malet shrugged. “You can hardly blame him. Durham supplied
men, arms and money to the rebels in York. The king would see them all dead.”

“Mayhap Gilbert will be successful and the rebels will no
longer trouble us.”

“We will see,” said the sheriff. “In any event, William has
made Gil the new castellan, so he will remain in York when he returns.”

“The king needed another after FitzRichard’s murder.” Geoff
remembered the morning the foolish castellan had been killed by the angry rebel
throng and ruefully wondered if the men from Durham had done the deed.

Malet looked at him with sudden interest. “What about you,
Sir Geoffroi? What task is yours?”

“I am to hunt with my knights to add to the storehouse of
meat for William’s army. Sir Alain readies the men even now.”

“Feeding William’s army is a worthy task and will keep you
busy with so many mouths to satisfy. The pigs and cattle from the surrounding
countryside will soon be exhausted. Roast venison, boar and hare stew will be
welcomed by the men.”

Geoff loved to hunt but he didn’t relish being the supplier
of food for so great an army. “Others will surely hunt as well. Not all
William’s men will be building the new castle or searching out rebels.”

“You can be glad the king will leave within a fortnight,
taking his army with him. Will you go as well?”

“My men and I are to remain in York,” said Geoff, not
unhappy at the prospect because of Emma.

Malet grinned. “Then I shall look forward to seeing more of
you.”

“Aye.” Geoff said, as he waved his goodbye and headed toward
the bailey.

* * *

Emma stole a glance at Inga as they broke their fast
together. Days had passed since the rape, and while the girl’s body was
recovering and the bruise on her face was fading, she still woke at night
screaming in terror. Though hidden from view, the violent taking of Inga’s
innocence would leave scars that would remain forever. It was those deeper
wounds of the soul Emma feared the most for her friend.

Inga drew her arms tightly around her body as she stared at
the bread before her, trembling even now, mayhap tormented by thoughts of that
night.

Emma reached out and touched her hand. “You are safe here,
Inga. And your father recovers. In time, you will both be well, you will see.”
Knowing Inga worried about her father’s livelihood, she added, “Artur has seen
that Feigr’s shop is secure and your servant knows you and your father are
here.”

Inga turned, her gray eyes looking at Emma. “You have been
kind to do so much for us. I only wish the terrible dreams would leave me. I
wake in the night with frightening pictures in my mind, my body drenched in
sweat. Oh, Emma, I shall never forget.”

She would not lie to her friend. In her experience, the
truth, while painful, was better handled than a lie. So it had been when she
was told of Halden’s death. “No, I do not expect you will. But, in time, that
memory will fade, replaced by other, happier ones.”

Inga reached for some bread. Emma was glad to see she was
eating. In the first days after the rape she had refused food.

Watching the young woman with her emerging beauty, Emma
recalled the young men of York who had flirted with Inga when her father’s head
was turned. The flirting had been a harmless foreshadowing of the courting that
would soon follow. Inga was pretty and many young men had noticed. Would those
young men still want Inga now that her innocence had been taken and her body
befouled by one of the French knights? Or, would they pity her but refuse to
take her to wife? Emma was determined they would not know, for it was certain
they would reject Inga if they did. She had seen it happen before. Inga had
been an innocent victim, but no decent man would want as a wife a tainted
woman.

Sigga entered the room carrying a tray laden with bowls of
steaming gruel. “’Tis well your hound hunts, my lady. Even if Artur would allow
me to go to market, I hear the stalls are bare. What the fleeing rebels did not
take, the Norman soldiers devour.”

Emma was thankful for the provisions they had stored and the
meat her hound put on their table. “It’s as if Magnus knows to do his part. He
keeps us well stocked with hares. As long as our few chickens lay eggs, we’ll
have those, too. When the weather warms, we can plant vegetables.”

“We’ve enough stored for stew till then,” said the cook.
“And there is hope the Norman king and his army will leave. Surely he has
business elsewhere. Saxons to slaughter in Wessex mayhap.” The last of her
words had been spoken sarcastically, Emma knew. None of them wished the Norman
king on the English in the South.

“I imagine half of England is in rebellion against him,”
Emma said, glancing at Inga eating her gruel. She did not have to remind the
girl that Eude would likely remain when the army left since he had been
garrisoned in York with the building of the first castle.

Suddenly, Ottar exploded into the room, followed by Finna at
a slower pace. They climbed onto the bench seat at the large trestle table
across from the two women. Ottar’s eyes roved over the steaming oatmeal and his
countenance fell. “Gruel again?”

“’Tis what we have now,” Finna chided her brother. “At least
you have food.”

Emma marveled at the wisdom coming from one so young, but
Finna had always been older than her years. Smiling at the girl as her brother
dove into his gruel, Emma said to Ottar, “There is plenty of fresh bread and
butter. We’ll have hare stew for dinner and tomorrow there will be eggs.”

His eyes fastening on the pot of thick golden syrup on one
side of the table, Ottar shouted, “And honey!”

“Aye,” said Inga, seemingly cheered by the young ones.
Directing an encouraging smile at Finna, she added, “And honey.”

* * *

A sennight passed and to no one’s surprise, not the least of
which was Geoff’s, the king announced he would see the new castle rise on
Baille Hill before he took his army south. Thus spurred on, the building
proceeded at a furious pace and Geoff and his knights were ordered to continue
their daily hunts in the forests of York.

They had been hunting nearly all day when Alain, looking at
the ever darkening sky, remarked, “’Twill be gloaming soon. What say you we
take the four deer, the hares and the boar we have and retire from the field?”

Geoff chuckled and turned to see Mathieu with one of the red
deer strapped behind his saddle. “Yea, I have been seeing a goblet of wine and
a juicy slice of venison in my mind for the last hour.”

With his raised arm, Geoff drew the men to a halt. Just as
he did, the wailing sound of a wounded animal rent the air, sending an eerie
shiver down his spine.

“What in the name of Saint Peter is that?” bellowed Alain.

“’Tis not far, sir,” observed Mathieu. “Do you want me to go
see?”

Geoff hesitated, thinking. The sound had been an eerie one,
not easily identified.  He remembered that rebels hid in this same forest.

“Hold, Mathieu. Let us go together. I would see this for
myself.” Geoff ordered the other knights to take their bounty back to the
castle, while he, Alain and Mathieu remained. He waited until the sound of
thundering of hooves died away, then urged his companions deeper into the
woods. “Come, let us see what beast cries from the forest.”

They walked the horses through the underbrush of the dense
stands of pine. The wail turned into a long trailing howl as the beast shrieked
its suffering.

“There!” shouted Mathieu. “Across that dense hedge, ’tis a
wolf caught in a trap.”

Through the thick foliage, Geoff caught a glimpse of fur, a
rough, dark gray coat of a large animal. “’Tis no wolf,” he said, “’tis Magnus,
Emma’s hound, or one just like it. Looks like his leg is caught in a snare.”

Geoff cautiously walked Athos nearer to where the giant
hound was desperately gnawing at the snare around its back leg. Between them
was a thick hedge of tangled undergrowth. With every movement of the hound, he
imagined the snare tightening, causing the hound more pain as it cut into his
leg. Already, blood dripped from where the wire had sliced into its flesh.

“Poor beast,” murmured Mathieu from behind him.

“Aye,” acknowledged Alain. “If we had not found him, the
hound might have chewed off his leg trying to escape. Wild animals do, you
know.”

“Or the wolves may have taken their revenge,” suggested
Geoff, dismounting and slowly walking toward the hedge that was between him and
the hound. He would have to crawl through the underbrush. Dropping to his hands
and knees, he began to push his shoulders through the hedge. A wave of anxiety
flowed over him as the darkness of the thick bushes closed about him. He hated
places that were closed in with no light. It reminded him of that time when he
was a boy. Refusing to think of it, he closed his eyes and pushed through.
Thankfully, after only a short distance, he emerged into light.

Rising, he took off his gloves and tucked them into his
belt. The experience in the dense bushes had left him sweating. Aware his
companions were watching, he wiped the sweat from his brow and walked to the
hound and knelt. He reached out his hand, still uncertain if it was Magnus. The
hound’s eyes were wild with fright. If it were Magnus, he hardly looked
himself.

From behind him, Alain urged caution. “Best be careful, he
may bite. He looks mad with terror.”

“Magnus,” Geoff softly spoke to the hound. “You know me,
Magnus. Do not fear. I will free you.”

At his voice, the hound calmed. His dark eyes, looking more
like those of Magnus, intelligent and keen, followed Geoff’s every move.

He extended his bare hand to the hound’s nose, letting him
sniff. A wet tongue lapped at his fingers, telling Geoff he’d found Emma’s dog.
Pleased at the trust shown him, Geoff patted the rough fur on Magnus’ head.
“’Tis all right, boy, I will soon have you free.”

“You’ve a way with the creature, sir,” Mathieu said,
dismounting. “May I help?”

“First, I must free him and see the damage the snare has
wrought.”

Geoff looked at the bloody leg just above the rear paw. He
drew his knife from his waist and sliced through the thin wire. Magnus
whimpered and when the hound realized he was free, tried to rise, but unsteady
on his wounded leg, he fell to the ground with a groan and commenced licking
the wound.

Geoff sat and lifted the leg onto his lap. “Let me see,
Magnus.” The hound did not resist but moaned. The wound was bad and if not
tended, could result in the hound losing the leg, or worse.